Light in Darkness
by Heavenmetal
Summary: Based off the Wolverine movie, but can stand by itself. Quicksilver aka Pietro. Quick thinking won't always get you somewhere. Chapter 2 up, Emma Frost's take on things.
1. Darkness Reigns

"_Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it." – Terry Pratchett_

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It's an easy thing to lose track of time when you're trapped in darkness.

The boy looked around the dimly lit room through the rusting bars of his cell. The view of other mutants huddled in fear was a bleak and uncomforting one, so his eyes drifted towards the far end of the room where he knew the door to be. The door may have led out of the room but it was no exit. It led to the examination room. As if the horrible experiments they exacted upon mutants could be euphemized into a thing as harmless as a doctor's visit by merely using a different word.

He had scanned this room many times for hours on end, and from what he could see from his vantage point behind bars, it was the only way out of here. No, that way was too dangerous. _Further into the belly of the beast_, he thought bitterly. There had to be another way to escape.

How long had it been since they'd taken him? He thought briefly on the mutants who'd attacked his family's caravan. They'd come in the night and as he'd heard the screams, he held his crying twin sister in his arms. He would lead them away from here, double back, and return to her faster than they could follow. That had been the plan.

So he'd gone out to face them, got their attention, and began to run. Things from that point did not go according to plan. Instead the one dressed as a cowboy had teleported right in front of him and punched him in gut, knocking all the wind out of him in one blow. He'd practically run right into the strike before being thrown to the uncompromising blob of a man who had held him down. He'd been sure they were going to kill him, especially the one with the claws. The beastly man approached him as he lay sprawled in the dirt with an untold weight pinning him there, toothy grin revealing his pronounced fangs and he sniffed at the boy. He could only shudder as that clawed hand reached toward his neck before a voice had called out: "Vic!"

That voice was the only reason he was alive, alive to be brought here for some terrible purpose. He had lost count of the days after about a month and a half in this Hell. How long had he been here? It bothered him that he really couldn't say. His thoughts went to his family and he hoped they were all right. It was at least some comfort to him that he'd yet to see his sister Wanda in this place. If they ever got their greedy hands on her…

He gritted his teeth, suppressing any kind of verbal outburst. He didn't want to give his captors the satisfaction. Still, he hated this: hated waiting in darkness for the "doctors" to come for him while he was strapped down in a cell, hated the angry shouts and soft sobs that drifted to his ears from all around him, hated the predictable repetition of being held prisoner in a war of which an old mutant claiming to be his biological father had once tried to warn him. Above, all he hated the horrible, oppressive _**stagnancy**_.

That was what bothered him most: not that he'd been stupid enough to get caught, not that he'd been dragged away from his adopted father's home and the warm presence of his sister, but that he could barely move. He wanted to run. The ability to move fast was ingrained into his every muscle. Being trapped here, fastened by thick straps to the bars of his cell, was torture. He tapped his bare foot impatiently, trying to ignore the futile urge to burst into a sprint. His thoughts returned to escape.

He had an idea so he turned his head to the right to stare at the strap holding his wrist. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he focused on the object. He closed his eyes. He felt the weight of the straps against his skin, most likely vinyl and leather, solid enough to keep him immobile. He attempted deliberately forcing his pent-up energy from his hand outward. He flexed his wrist experimentally, pushing against the restraint, testing his hand's range of motion. He frowned. It barely budged.

He could feel the sweat begin to trickle down his neck. He chuckled darkly at that; when running he never broke a sweat. He clenched his fist, still trying to direct the flow of speed into this one area of his body, trying to displace the molecules in the bindings to move as he did. Faster and faster, atoms coming closer together…

He could feel it. There was warmth spreading from the restraint, the heat of friction as particles bumped into one another. He squelched his excitement so as not to break his concentration. The heat was starting to become uncomfortable against his wrist but he kept going, a few more seconds and his hand would be free.

_Stop._

He wasn't sure where that thought had come from so he shook his head and focused.

"Stop it!" a voice whispered sharply.

His concentration broken, he turned his head abruptly to glare at the speaker. A blonde woman in the next cell was staring at him, her white shirt standing out against her pale skin. He had to admit he was impressed that a quick blink was the only sign she gave that she'd been startled by the speed of his movement. Upset at being disrupted, he thrashed against the bonds. His body was a blur as he moved.

"You pull it out again and you'll bring them. You know what will happen then." She reproached him, voice barely above a whisper.

He glared at her all the more fiercely, hating the truth in her words.

He looked back at his wrist, the material looked singed. His eyes ran down his arm to the IV that was tapped into his vein. When they first captured him, they hadn't realized that his metabolism was as fast as the rest of him. His body burned through the sedative with which they'd hit him forcing them to dose him on the way to this place…twice. They kept him pumped full of a mild sedative so he couldn't think or move as fast as he normally would but he would still be cognizant enough for their sadistic "tests". His trashing had managed to dislodge the IV once and he'd received a beating for that small victory.

His shoulders slumped. Why'd she have to be right? He glanced back at her.

_Ice Queen, _he thought.

She smiled then as though reading his thoughts. He cocked his head, thinking of a moment earlier when that foreign thought had entered his mind.

"You're a telepath," he said, his statement sounding unusually loud now despite using a normal speaking voice.

_Genius, _he heard in his mind, _figured that out by yourself, did you? Well, they don't call you Quicksilver for nothing, right, Pietro? Do you want to state the obvious again? You could tell me I'm a mutant. _

Just then the door slammed open, cutting off the girl's mental insults and what would have Quicksilver's witty reply as the pair of mutants turned to watch the men who had just entered with wary, analytical expressions. In fact, the entire room had gone eerily silent, as though these men might fail to notice their presence if they didn't make a sound. A couple of lab technicians where dragging a boy, most likely a new capture since the clawed man he knew as Vic was with them.

They slowly stalked down the aisle of cells. As they approached, he could see a thick blindfold covering the boy's eyes. They boy was groaning, mumbling incoherently. Most likely he'd just undergone his first "test", the first of many unfortunately…for all of them. Vic's gaze swept over each mutant he passed, a strange smile settled onto his features.

The technicians stopped near Quicksilver and the girl, opening an empty cell to house their new prisoner.

Vic stopped in front of the girl's cage, placing his large clawed hand against the bars and leaned closer. She backed up wisely. Vic growled low in this throat and Quicksilver wondered how something that sounded so much like a purr could feel so threatening. "Hello, frail."

She shuddered.

Quicksilver thrashed again, trying to relieve the pressure of wanting to move. The instant he did, he noticed Vic's gaze shift to him and one of the technicians pulled a tranquilizer gun. Not wanting to be dosed again, he stilled and there was a tense moment as Quicksilver's gaze switched between Vic and the gun pointed in his direction. He hoped fervently that they didn't notice the damage he'd done to his restraints.

Nothing happened.

The gun lowered and the technicians dumped the boy unceremoniously into a cell and locked it. As the technicians turned to leave, Vic was smiling at him. Quicksilver suppressed his urge to tremble under that disquieting gaze. Vic slowly turned and followed, tossing a quick wink at the girl. Eyes followed them out. The prisoners let out a collective sigh of relief when the door closed, signaling that the men were gone.

Quicksilver glanced over at the girl, who was staring intently at the boy they'd brought. From his cell, he could see the boy lying on the floor. The girl seemed to be concentrating, a look of concern on her features. Did she know him? Did she care for him? Pietro closed his eyes and thought of his twin sister. He tried to picture her in his mind and let his thoughts of her be a comfort in this place. He opened his eyes to regard the girl again.

So few things were.


	2. Stillness and Silence

"It is, moreover, only in the state of complete abandonment and loneliness that we experience the helpful powers of our own natures." - C.G. Jung

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Emma craved stillness, stillness and silence. Her empathy and telepathy were noticeably stronger. Whatever these doctors were doing to her it was changing her, strengthening her powers but loosening her control over them. She could pull the names of the drugs from the thoughts of the doctors that "treated" her but without any medical training she really had no idea what their purpose was for her… or any of them. Everything around her in this place was motion and emotion, a discordant symphony of the myriad thoughts of the captives around her.

It grated on her nerves.

She almost missed the cocky mutant that the guards called Gambit. His relentless chatter was a welcome distraction that made it easier to block out the cacophony that was like a persistent buzzing in her mind.

But she hadn't seen, heard nor felt him since he'd boasted that he planned to escape. None of them were sure how he'd done it. He was just missing from his cell. The rumor was that he had made it. Or maybe they just need to believe that, she thought cynically.

Without his presence, the facility was more somber and oppressive. For all his swaggering talk his mind was refreshingly stoic, a stark contrast to the boy who was imprisoned next to her. She observed him now. His pale, lithe form, clothed in the orange uniform they all wore, was kept mostly immobile by the flexible straps that secured him to his cell. His platinum blond hair looked white in the dimness. When he fidgeted, as he often did, he looked like a flickering light in the darkness.

Pietro, she knew, was this mutant's name. His power was super speed and his thoughts moved as fast as he did, a dizzying whirlwind of streaming consciousness that she could barely understand. She could catch a fraction of his thoughts if she concentrated but the rapid pace of his mind gave her a headache.

She sighed. He was at it again.

He was trashing, bucking against his restraints to try and build the momentum to break free. Even though she wasn't focusing her power on him, even though he hardly said a word, he was the loudest thing around. His emotions projected unconsciously and he was restless… irritatingly so.

Emma stood and began to pace the small space allowed to her. She turned away from Pietro and before she'd taken a step a spike of anger hit her, making her wince. She halted. She could feel him glaring at her, eyes boring into her back as though daring her to turn around. He was upset at being restrained, that she could move and he couldn't.

The sound of the cage rattling signaled that he had redoubled his efforts to break free. Emma continued pacing, she was bitter or maybe the people around her were so bitter that it drowned out what she was really feeling. She wrapped her arms around her waist even as she berated herself for the protective gesture. If her own mind couldn't slow the inflow of thoughts and emotions, her arms most certainly wouldn't do the job.

A strange emotion drifted to her. She tried to guess at what it was. Pride? Hope? She looked around, halting her steps and again glanced at Pietro to see his face sporting a grin. It unnerved her. What had he done? She noticed a thin plastic tube dangling near him, dripping a clear liquid onto the floor. Had he been drugged this whole time? If this was how he acted when sedated she couldn't imagine the tempest he would be at full capacity.

Whatever he'd just dislodged must have been monitored because a machine started a quiet beeping, alerting the doctors no doubt. It wouldn't be long before someone came to investigate. Pietro cursed and struggled again, his panic rising. She could feel it. Emma grew worried as she came to the alarming conclusion that she had no choice but to feel it.

She looked up as the door opened. Two guards entered, armed and angry. Pietro's worry combining with her own, she watched warily as they marched hurriedly passed her cell to stand in front of his.

Pietro narrowed his eyes with recognition. He knew what was coming and it spelled trouble. She watched in mute fear as one guard raised a tranquilizer gun while the other pulled out his keys and began to open the cell. It opened with a menacing creak and Emma noticed that the room had silenced as everyone focused on the current scene.

Pietro smirked, masking the fear she felt coming from him with bravado.

"What's so funny, freak?" the guard said, venom in his voice. A vicious glee came from this one. He wanted to hurt someone and was just waiting for the excuse to do it.

"I was thinking that Gambit might have some company soon." Pietro taunted.

A snarl twisted the guard's features and one of his hands swiftly grabbed Pietro by the hair, his angry glare meeting Pietro's ice blue one exactly. Apparently, these guards didn't like being reminded of the humiliating slight that resulted from having a mutant slip out on their watch.

"Well you might be right, mutie," he ground the words out harshly, "'cause Gambit's dead. After his little stunt, we put him down Old Yeller style behind the utility shed." The words were meant to hurt and they did their job, despair and fury closed in from all around her. She couldn't tell if he was lying. She only hoped so.

Without allowing him a chance for a response, he wrenched Pietro's head to the side, pulled a spare tranquilizer dart from his belt and ferociously jabbed it into the boy's neck.

Emma screamed. Not from the sight but from the tidal wave of pain that erupted through her wide open empathy. She clutched at her own neck, stumbling back against the bars of her cell as Pietro's assault became hers as well.

He was bleeding, hurting badly, but the drug was doing its work. His head lolled towards his chest and she could feel him struggle to stay afloat, stay himself, as the sedative tried to drag him into unconsciousness. Pietro let out a quick breath that might have been a laugh.

"Got nothin' to say?" the guard mocked, removing the dart in one cruel yank and releasing his hold on the young mutant while his partner lowered his gun, taking a cautious glance around.

With great effort Pietro managed to raise his head. He looked the guard square in the face, unflinchingly, and spat on him.

Emma felt a surge of respect for his bravery that was purely her own just to have it interrupted by the building rage of the guard. Things were about to go from bad to worse.

The back of the guard's hand struck Pietro's face with a sharp crack. His head spun with the force of the blow and as his face turned towards her for a moment she gazed into his unfocused eyes and she saw him as though in slow motion. A droplet of blood hung from his lips before dripping down to join the IV fluid on the floor. His tongue darted out to touch the wound. He didn't deserve this. She wanted this to stop, didn't want to feel him hurting. But the guard wasn't done with him yet.

He buried his fist into Pietro's stomach. He doubled over as much as he could while restrained, but Emma crumpled to the dirty cement floor, gasping. What kind of drug did they inject him with? It slowed him down but did nothing to block out these agonizing sensations. It didn't numb.

Why couldn't she shut it off? She clenched her fists, cursing the tear that escaped and rolled down her cheek. Why couldn't she block them out? She felt everything. She was beginning to shake from the fear and anger that crashed against her in waves and threatened to wash her away. The negative emotions were always the strongest, buffeting violently inside her head. It hurt, everything hurt. But to the guards, this wasn't about the pain. They were sending a message, to Pietro and all of the mutants: no one gets out. There is no escape.

"Fuck...you," Pietro muttered rebelliously through labored breaths. The subject of his sentence cut off any further insult as a punch impacted with the mutant's temple, hard enough to make Emma's vision blur.

Emma shut her eyes. She couldn't bear to watch as they continued to beat him. She didn't have to… She suffered each blow and the sick satisfaction that came from the men delivering them.

She craved stillness.


End file.
